


Take My Scarf

by Marie_Michon



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Episode Related, First Time, M/M, Missing Scene, episode s02e10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Michon/pseuds/Marie_Michon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was interrupted amidst his thoughts when someone stepped out of the shadows next to his door.<br/>He really should have felt the presence of someone lurking there. </p><p>With a practised move he switched the bottles to his left hand and reached for the hilt of his rapier with his right, as the person emerged from the shadows, and by the sway with which he moved alone, Athos would have known him from any other man in Paris.</p><p>Aramis.</p><p>He stopped at the door frame and held both his hands up before him, palms towards Athos in a gesture of peace.</p><p>“Easy, my friend. It’s me.”</p><p>Athos drew his rapier fully, and slowly took the last few steps up, edge pointed closely at Aramis’ heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take My Scarf

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by this tweet of Jessica Pope.  
>    
> 
> 
> Although it just confirmed what I had already taken for granted, namely that the sash Athos is wearing in S02E10 since D’Artagnan’s wedding is actually Aramis’. But how did he get it? They must have met again after Aramis left in the series.  
> This is my version of this missing scene.
> 
> I do apologise for my mistakes. As a non-native I'd really appreciate if anyone would like to point out combinations that do not work in English ;). Thanks for bearing with me!

He left after just one bottle of wine.

He had bought two others that he carried with him and there were more hidden under his bed in his chambers. That’s where he was headed. To his bed and his wine.

Alone.

He needed to be alone and copious amounts more drunk.

Although the others had tried to coerce him to stay with them. He couldn’t.

He just couldn’t.

He knew they were worried about him, about what he’d do, how drunk he’d get… especially young D’Artagnan.

And he knew the others would miss Aramis just as much as he did and wished to drink to his remembrance together, the rest of them… especially Porthos.

All for one… he snuffled and spat.

He couldn’t be with them, now. Not with anyone.

They had been called “The Three Musketeers”, “The Inseparables”, Aramis, Porthos and him and he loved these two more than anything, _especially one_. 

 

He had never felt more alive than a few hours ago when _she_ had brought _him_ back from the certain death.

He had been so overjoyed to see him alive again, after all what had happened and against all odds that for the first time since what felt like ever, he had let his guards down. With his ever so tightly held control gone, he had just grabbed and kissed him.

 

It had just been a swift kiss on the cheek but it had carried all his passion, all his feelings, his relief and his joy as well as much deeper ones. Feelings he had never once before allowed to surface.

He was sure that nobody had thought anything of it in the heat of the moment. Everybody had been so happy to have him back. And he would have been thankful for that had life just gone on as before…

All of them had needed to touch him, to feel that he was real, that it was really him being back, warm and with a beating heart, him who loved to touch and be touched back the most.

Porthos was always the most open tactile one of them. Bear-hugging, back patting, wet kisses on cheeks giving Porthos, his corporal gestures as wide and loud as his laugh. Especially around Aramis.

Aramis was just as touchy, but so much more quiet and subtle in his gestures, always well behaved and polite but so very sincere when he touched. Mostly he didn’t even actually perform the movement but let his eyes convey his intent, let them roam where he wished his hands be. Especially around the ladies.

But both of them knew to leave him alone with that and play that out between each other.

He had always been the loner, had made sure to be left out of those camaraderies from the very beginning.

He hadn’t wanted that kind of attention from anyone for a very long time, and after that it wouldn’t have been fitting anymore, _he was their leader after all._

So whenever Porthos or Aramis had tried to get closer to him, he had just let them bounce off, again and again.

And Aramis had tried.

Often.

Being a medic _and_ a man of faith he had always tried to get to him, to console him, to be there for him, and eventually even to make him smile... maybe even more, but that might have been his imagination, he had been drunk a lot of those times, very drunk…

But Aramis had never stopped showing so much care and he had always sent him off.

 

Athos pulled the cork out of one of the bottles with his teeth and spat it away to take a deep swallow of the wine.

At least he could drink peacefully from now on, without someone who always tried to talk to him, to get him to tell him about his drinking, about his past. About _her._

He would never forget the hurt look and the accusation in his eyes when they found out that his _wife_ was alive. That _she_ was his wife. And that he hadn’t told him.

And he had simply turned away, like he had always done.

The better he had got under Aramis’ care, the more he started to flourish under his friendship the more it had started to hurt to keep Aramis at distance. But it would all have been for the better, had life gone on like it had!

He would _never_ have allowed himself to give in to his delusional rhapsody.

He would never have been able to be the kind of friend Aramis needed, Aramis deserved. That had had to be Porthos’ part!

And he had willed Porthos to take it.

To give Aramis what he couldn’t.

But Aramis had never given up on him.

And whenever he had pushed Aramis away he had had to stand by and watch Aramis doing something reckless, searching distraction and consolation in as destructive pastimes as his drinking... _sometimes more._

It had been a doom loop and it had just been a question of time until it would have escalated in some way, although nobody could have foreseen the disastrous dimension of this.

Aramis nearly dead.

Still…

Aramis gone for good.

 

He took another swig.

When he was younger, before all of it happened, his wife, his brother, the end of his proper life, he would have _wept_ at this lost feeling that was killing him inside. But not anymore. He didn’t have any tears left.

Porthos shed enough for both of them anyways.

Good, big hearted Porthos.

He wished he could solace him at least, but that was really not his strength.

That had always been Aramis’ part.

He left that to the whelp, now.

He was just back to empty, even more than before Aramis had joined the regiment.

He felt as numb as if he had drunk the whole night already, but he planned to continue doing so until the black would come and release him, take even the rest of his consciousness.

 

He walked home so drawn into himself that even all his soldier’s honed instincts were turned off.

He couldn’t care less if anyone tried to rob him now, if anyone touched one of the bottles, though, that poor wretch would still get more than he probably deserved.

But he reached his house unmolested and climbed the steps to his apartment at an uncommon early time of the evening thinking that he didn’t want to go back to the garrison tomorrow… _or any other day_ … without the warm smile of his friend to greet him.

…or the apologising smile when he was late,

…or his favourite, the mischievous smile when he –

He was interrupted amidst his thoughts when someone stepped out of the shadows next to his door.

He really should have felt the presence of someone lurking there.

 

With a practised move he switched the bottles to his left hand and reached for the hilt of his rapier with his right, as the person emerged from the shadows, and by the sway with which he moved alone, Athos would have known him from any other man in Paris.

Aramis.

He stopped at the door frame and held both his hands up before him, palms towards Athos in a gesture of peace.

“Easy, my friend. It’s me.”

 

Athos drew his rapier fully, and slowly took the last few steps up, edge pointed closely at Aramis’ heart.

He didn’t say a word.

He tried to clear his thoughts of grief, of anger. He swallowed hard.

 

“Athos, please, let me in.”

Athos shook his head halfway, leaving his eyes averted to the far left.

When he spoke, his voice was husky.

“You were _gone_.”

“I still am. I just need to say goodbye…”

“You already did.”

“…properly.”

 

And this was so typical for Aramis. It was always about what _he_ wanted.

Maybe _Aramis_ felt better when he talked about his feelings, when he explained what he had promised his God, when he asked _him_ for bloody absolution.

His hand started to tremble. Because for _him_ it was pure terror.

A prolonging of his guts being torn out along with his heart.

 

He couldn’t let him in, he would be too weak to ever let him leave, again.

He couldn’t well ask him _to stay_ either, not after all that had happened, not because of the reasons why Aramis needed to go in the first place.

No.

As much as he wished to, he wouldn’t be able to bear this all over, again.

 

His eyes misted over when he thought of the last he saw of Aramis, walking away through the allée, bordered by autumnal trees, red and brown leafs cloaking the earth and falling around him to emphasise his goodbye. His azure cloak swinging around him at his steady walk, the symbol of the proud Musketeers that was mirrored by the sunny sky that day, the colour Aramis loved so much that he always wore a matching scarf under his weapon belts, like their ceremonial sash, him, one of… or _the_ proudest of the King’s Musketeers.

Well… more the _Queen’s_ Musketeers in his case…

And now he wanted to leave all this!

 

He shook his head and whispered,

“I can’t!”

 

“Athos-”

Aramis begged, and his voice raised goose bumps on Athos’ skin.

But he still didn’t look at Aramis.

He knew that Aramis needed him to look, needed him to speak, but the only things Athos would want to say were the things he couldn’t.

Not before, not now…

_Don’t go._

Aramis was the expert on knowing people, on knowing Athos. There was no way he wasn’t already cognizant.

So anything he’d want to say would be unnecessary anyways.

 

 

Aramis pushed the tip of the rapier pointed at him aside and down and stepped closer.

“Open the door, Athos. I know you wish to hurt me as I hurt you, but let’s do this indoors, please.”

 

Athos exhaled noisily and let his sword hang slack before he re-sheathed it.

“I do not want to _hurt_ you, Aramis…” he said … _on the contrary_ he thought and fumbled for his key.

He sounded resigned.

He felt way too sober again but had to fight with the lock nevertheless before he shouldered the door open and went straight through to his table where he put the bottles.

Aramis came in behind him with measured steps and closed and bolted the door behind him before he leaned back against it.

 

Athos put on a lamp on the table before he turned to finally look at Aramis. There was no escaping now, anyways.

Aramis was in plain-clothes, bared of his pauldron, cloak and weapons, even his favourite mother-of-pearl inlaid pistol was gone.  
He looked so, peaceful, pious... gone… _gorgeous in the flickering light of the oil lamp._

Athos couldn’t help but think of the day he first saw him.

He was still a young man destined for the church, then, fleeing from the life he now wanted to go back to.

He had changed so much in between.

His body, his stance.

Even in civil he looked like an elite soldier now, dangerous, predatory.

But still as handsome, perhaps even more so.

 

Athos sighed and took the opened one of the bottles. He drew a cup for Aramis which he set on the corner closest to the door on the table and stood back taking a swig from the bottle, looking Aramis in the eye for the first time that night.

Aramis hadn’t moved. He looked at Athos calmly and only the reflecting fire blazing in his black eyes betrayed his stormy heart.

His voice was soothingly calm and steady, like when he talked down his agitated stallion.

“How are you?”

 

“Just say what you have to say and then go.” _If you have to go at all._

 

Aramis pushed himself off the door and came closer, his eyes never leaving Athos’ searching for what he didn’t say.

As Aramis approached, Athos had to fight his urge to look away again, to hide everything that Aramis must see pouring out of his eyes, bleeding from open internal wounds, betraying his words... not only those from tonight.

But he held his gaze, it was all irrelevant, now, anyways.

Aramis reached the table and took his cup still watching Athos closely.

He had wanted to thank him for everything, tell him how close a friend he had become and how he would always have an important place in his heart.

But to tell such things to _Athos_ seemed so unsuitable, now.

Especially as the answer to the question he had wanted to ask the most lay open before him in Athos’ eyes.

“I understand.” was all Aramis said before he lifted the cup to his lips. 

 

He took a sip and set the cup back down.

It was expensive red.

Not Athos’ favourite, but _his_. 

 

“It wouldn’t have changed a single thing.” Aramis tried to assure Athos, taking a step towards him around the table.

“I should have tried” Athos reprimanded himself lowly, “I might have thwarted your doom.”

“By averting my attention?” He laughed softly.

“Believe me, Athos, I was doomed the instant the Queen rewarded me with the cross –  _Rochefort’s_ cross – for saving her life, he would have destroyed me for that alone, he was insane.”

 

Athos shook his head, thought of all the nights Aramis had done something stupid that he could have prevented, the night he went out and met the Cardinal’s maîtresse for the first time, the night the at the cloister, when Aramis had lost his former love and he had left him, vulnerable, open to temptation, and with the _Queen_ of all people, when Aramis had needed someone and it wasn’t him who’d been there…

All of this could have been prevented.

But how could _he_ have done so?

He was their leader, it was considered illegal, it was a sin!

 

Aramis took another step towards him and he took a step back and brought the bottle back up to his mouth.

As soon as the wine reached his lips he remembered why he had bought it, because it was _his_ , tasted like he would on an evening like this, and he saw the recognition in Aramis’ eyes at the same moment, when his pupils widened and he licked his lips.

Athos let the hand drop and felt defeat creep up his back, the flush rising up his throat. 

 

“You chose the church!” he said in defence, over us, _…over me,_ he added silently.

“I made _a vow t_ _o God_ to renounce all worldly temptations and devote my life to him, for the then  _highly unlikely_ case he would be so merciful as to save the lives of the Queen and _her_ child, when there was no hope left!

And he did, and he saved _me_ as well, although I was already meant to be _dead,_ so I _have_ to honour my vow!

It has nothing to do with what I’d rather do!” … _and no matter how much I would rather stay… with you_ , he thought, that was the point of a sacrifice.

 

Athos had always admired and hated Aramis conviction at the same time, but today more than ever.

 

“Then go and do your duty!” Athos grumbled and didn’t care about propriety when he turned away, raised the bottle again and drank. _Please, just go!_

 

“I will,” Aramis said and closed the distance between them, “tomorrow.”

 

Athos looked at him questioningly.

 

“I think I did not explain myself to you extensively enough.”

 

Athos stepped back again and his heel struck a wall. 

 

“You showed us enough of _your_ _belief_ , Aramis!”

He had never actually seen Aramis with a man, but frankly, he should not be surprised, wasn’t, to be completely honest. _  
_

 

Aramis drew closer until Athos was caught between him and the wall, close enough to touch. Not able to turn away any more.

He took the bottle from Athos’ hand and took a swallow, his eyes intent on Athos’.

 

“I am not your comrade anymore.” _And we both don’t care what’s legal at all._

 

Damn him, Athos thought, and damn his ability to read him so well.

But Aramis was right.

He didn’t need to worry about his worst fear anymore – losing his friend, his _sword-brother!_

Those were already lost to him… _tomorrow_.

 

“Aramis,” he groaned, the annoyed and at the same time worried look on his face he exclusively saved for Aramis,

“will you ever be able to _not_ commit a sin when it is within your reach?”

 

“I promised it, and I intend to keep this promise, I will control myself and forsake everything that was dear to me, Athos, tomorrow.”

 

Athos swallowed hard on all the saliva suddenly pooling in his throat.

“You said it was what you wished… ” _with all your heart!_

 

Aramis looked deep into Athos’ eyes, searching for the understanding that he knew dwelt therein.

“You know why I said that.”

He said beseechingly and pushed closer.

He blinked and looked back up at Athos from under heavy lashes that glistened wet in the flickering lamp light.

“ _I had_ to do what I had to do, Athos! You of all men must understand.”

 

Athos knew why he had evaded _this_ situation for so long.

Aramis was not only handsome - and that he was already enough to fall for - he was also endearing, passionate and a natural temptation on _oh so_ many levels.

But he also knew how to play his cards perfectly, with words specifically, but he did not shy back from using _every_ other mean as well… _tears almost shed._

It was no wonder to him that so many people lost their heart to him, his other best friend included.

He couldn’t allow himself to, it was a _sin_!

Athos didn’t believe in God anymore, but Aramis did.

Athos remembered him in many dire situations, dark eyes glistening, suppressing bitter tears, sitting and praying silently with a simple wooden rosary - _until the Queen gifted him with her damned golden cross_ \- his nimble fingers tracing the pearls first and then the tiny Jesus figurine, caressing its delicate naked body on the cross reverently before lifting it to touch his lips.

He was a menace!

A constant temptation to himself and others.

A temptation better people than Athos had failed to resist.

But this was the least he owed Aramis.

To be strong for once, once more, for _him_.

It was _wrong_ , and both of them had tainted their eternal souls more than often enough.

For himself, he didn’t care, but if there was one thing he would loathe doing, it was adding to Aramis’ demise.

He had to control himself, his feelings, _his tears_.

How could he tell Aramis to go, when he wanted him to stay forever.

He was sure his voice would fail him, if he tried, now.

 

Aramis still looked at him, silent, waiting.

 

Athos nodded, wordlessly. He understood.

It changed nothing, though.

 _I can’t_ , he didn’t say, _we mustn’t_!

He shook his head.

_Please, please stay, only ray of sunshine in my darkness…_

Helplessness burned behind his eyes.

 

“If I must renounce this life, …”

Aramis reached out with his right hand, his fingers barely touching Athos’ collar, toying with it,

“…I want you to be my last, Athos…” the name an endearment, a caress.

 

What did Aramis know about _wanting_ …

How could he deny him… how could anyone… _anything, always, Aramis, mon ami._

And what a tragical providence this must be, he, Aramis’ last, and Aramis, his first.

His only…

His throat was drawn tight, even swallowing impossible, now, his chest felt so heavy, his lungs hollow, burning, bare of air for far too long.

_Don’t go!_

He surged forward, grabbed Aramis by his neck and his lapel like a man drowning and sucked in a desperate gasp of air before crushing his lips on Aramis’.

 

Aramis went rigid for only the shortest part of a moment before he caught up.

He had seen Athos’ resolve melt away in his eyes.

Had seen his heart beat faster and harder in his carotid.

Seen the last stand of his internal fight as sweat broke on his neck together with the rising flush and as Athos had stopped breathing entirely he been ready to push him up against the wall and break his last defence with persuasion of his own body.

He couldn’t have gone without having told Athos how much he meant to him.

How dear he’d hold him.

How he’d _miss_ him.

How thankful he was to have met him, how thankful he was for his friendship, how much he had always loved him… _wanted him_.

The matter was just that even _he_ couldn’t well speak about that with Athos.

Even _he_ couldn’t simply tell Athos in a way Athos would let himself comprehend.

He had been prepared to use corporal elucidation, but he let Athos manhandle him gladly, if that was what he needed… to say goodbye.

 

Athos forced Aramis’ lips open with his and ravished his mouth greedily.

He used too much teeth and had gathered too much water in his mouth as he pushed inside deeply, desperately.

Aramis had to breathe through his nose and swallow down way too suspiciously coppery tasting saliva before he could answer the kiss properly, take the force out of it and deepen it passionately.

Aramis tasted exactly like Athos had dreamt of.

Better.

There were overtones of the wine he preferred, the one he’d just sipped, of blood he had probably drawn with his attack, and smoke… _gun?_ … probably tobacco, but you never knew with Aramis… Underneath he tasted salt, sandalwood, incense and musk.

It was unfamiliar, kissing a man, his virile taste, the light scratching of his beard, the _force_ behind it, so different to his last kiss. _Her_ kiss. _So_ different. So much curbed strength, so much fervour reigned in… _for how much longer?_

 

The rumours were not exaggerated.

Aramis kissed like he shot, intense and unfailing.

Athos barely suppressed a moan.

He pulled Aramis back with him, let himself sack against the wall and clutched Aramis to his chest.

Aramis braced himself against the wall with one hand, the other found his way around Athos at the hollow of his back and sneaked lower. Reaching the small of Athos’ back and steadying it, Aramis deepened the kiss again while grinding his hips against Athos’.

It was Aramis’ time to moan deep into Athos’ throat as he felt the other’s distinctive erection pressed against his own.

 _Athos,_ allowing his body to express what he consciously never would have admitted, _finally_.

Aramis writhed catlike against him, suggestive, shameless and felt Athos’ cock twitch violently before he answered his moan in kind.

 

Athos felt light-headed and dizzy and panted heavily when Aramis drew back.

Both their lips were dark red, wet and swollen and Athos had to force himself to drag his gaze up to Aramis’ eyes as he addressed him.

 

“Does this mean you’ll have me?”

Aramis asked and how dared he look so askingly at Athos, as were he not devoted to Aramis with all his body and soul… _from the very beginning._

Aramis made a move to slide down Athos’ body… and how dare he look up at him so demurely from his deep black eyes while he was suggesting to do what he went to do?

His hands slid down Athos’ chest to come to rest at the waistband of his breeches… had his doublet been open all the time?

 

“No!”

Athos grabbed Aramis by his elbow and pulled him back up.

 

“No.” he repeated softer, fearing that Aramis could get him wrong.

 

He pressed another kiss on Aramis’ lips, soft and beguiling before pulling back and stepping out of Aramis’ reach to get back to the wine.

His throat was suddenly much too dry.

He felt Aramis’ questioning look on his back, longed to touch and smooth the worrying frown from his forehead, longed to talk to him, to reassure him.

But how to say this without hurting Aramis.

How to tread so carefully as to not sound judgemental.

After all that had happened.

After all that Aramis must think he thought of him, when he effectively didn’t… _at all_.

How to tell him that through all of Aramis’ playfulness, all his flippancy, his debaucheries, his _stupidities_ , Athos had never held that against him, had never been able to be angry for long with him, had never let that change how he felt about him.

He had never stopped seeing the _real_ Aramis, … _his Aramis_.

On the contrary, he had suffered with him, wanted to save him, longed to give him what he so desperately had searched in vain… and in all the wrong places.

But how to say all that?

He wasn’t a man of many words, or flattering words, or nice words… _or words at all, actually_.

He was doomed to fail, fail his friend… _again_.

 

He took up Aramis’ cup with one hand and one bottle with the other before he turned and stopped half turned to his friend half to the door that led to his bed and hoped that Aramis could see his intent, could read him… _one more time_.

But Aramis stood where he left him.

His left hand back against the wall, his posture like his mien tarrying.

 

 

How graceful he looked even when he looked so different, unobtrusive… _defeated_.

Athos started to shiver.

His worst fear manifesting before his eyes.

Aramis without his easy smile, without his naughty playfulness, with doubt in his eyes instead of the always teasing sparkle.

Had Rochefort managed to take Aramis to the grave with him, after all?

Had the fear for _his_ child, the terror of his certain and most gruesome _death_ so close before him really broken him?

Had they been too late, after all?

 

This was not, how he wanted it to happen… _how he had imagined it to be._

 

Not like this!

 

Aramis’ expression hardened, he guarded his feelings.

Athos saw him swallow and brace his right hand that still hung loose beside him until then, against his hip.

 

Athos felt a sudden sickness creep up his throat.

Had he just croaked that out loud?

He sighed.

  

“Aramis,”

 

The look that he had to confront was dark, on the brink of being insulted...

He knew this look, it was usually directed towards others and could seamlessly turn into hostile.

Good.

This was way closer to the hot-blooded Aramis he was used to deal with.

 

“… what I meant is, not like _that_!”

 

The more closed Aramis’ stance had become, the more he had to open his, to win his trust back.

It was an easy behaviour pattern.

It worked well with animals, he knew this.

He could do this with humans as well.

He at least had to try… with this one at least, this one time.

 

He exhaled and tried to relax his posture, made an inviting gesture with the hand that held the bottle and bodily opened up the way to the room behind him.

 

Aramis shook his head at Athos’ shaky attempt on communicating and huffed to himself, but he knew Athos all too well not to accept this try to reach out.

He sauntered over, and instantly a spark of his old behaviour slipped into place and a crisp smile played around the corners of his mouth.

 

Athos made way to let Aramis pass, but Aramis stopped in the passage, leaving Athos no real space to move and jerked his chin towards him, forcing Athos to look up a bit, although they were nearly the same size.

Athos knew that the easiest way to reassure Aramis would be to tell him, to touch him.

But his hands were full, and on him all these gestures of affection that came so easily to his sword-brothers felt somehow awkward whenever he tried them… nevertheless he wanted to.

 

“Aramis…”

 

He would miss pronouncing this name.

He would remember saying it, forever… huffing it exasperatedly, mostly.

Shouting it to call him back, secondly.

Hissing it, whenever he was hurt and Aramis patched him back up... and breathing it, like now, how he had never said it out loud, until then.

 

“I know you want me, Athos, why don’t you just let me…”

 

“No, Aramis, not so” Athos whispered. That is not how I want to remember you.

 

Aramis gaze turned piercing.

“Don’t you _want_ to have me?!” he asked, fierce, unbelieving, knowing better.

 

Athos laughed, unsmiling, and turned back to the bottle, taking a long draught.

 

“My dear _friend,_ only your _loving God_ knows _how much_ I want to have you!

How much I want _all_ of you!

But if this is the last I’ll ever have of you, I want it to be… different.” …singular, lasting.

 

Aramis’ face smoothened out at that, he pulled up to Athos, cupped his jaw and leaned in until their breaths mingled.

He whispered, his voice more felt than heard by Athos.

“Do you wish me to _have you_ , then.” Not a question, a conception.

 

“Always so formal…”

A half-smile curved one corner of Athos’ mouth and Aramis stroked it softly with his thumb.

 

“I still like to be polite” he said and laid his lips over Athos’, kissing him lovingly, seductive and thoroughly inviting.

 

Deepening the kiss he laid his other hand on Athos' waist and guided him into the room and up to his bed.

When Athos felt his little night stand touch his thigh he set down the bottle and cup, freeing his hands to finally touch Aramis again.

He wanted to touch all of him, his handsome face, his wild and unruly hair, his strong shoulders and his muscled back.

 

Aramis let him roam his body with his hands and kissed him deeply, all the while sending steadily increasing waves of pleasure through Athos’ body and mind, with his lips, his tongue, his moans.

His one hand touched Athos’ jugular, his jaw, stroked him minutely, but making him shiver nonetheless.

And the other hand held him close, grabbed him, pressed them against each other.

All of this bombarding Athos’ senses, when only the scent of Aramis, _only the thought of him_ , was enough to make Athos rock hard in his breeches.

 

He groaned helplessly into Aramis’ mouth as Aramis pressed his loins against him, ground his cock against his in a slow roll of his hips and made him feel his equally hard member.

Athos felt himself lose his last bit of sanity at that contact, and as his own cock twitched heavily and tried to break free of his breeches in response.

He couldn’t stop his hand from roaming lower, cupping a perfectly rounded cheek and squeezing it hard.

 

Aramis broke the kiss to hiss into Athos ear.

 

“Politeness is not your most favourite trait of mine, you say?”, his breath hot on Athos’ neck.

 

It actually _was_ one of Athos’ favourite traits of Aramis, just not, when directed at himself.

There was _one_ he craved, had been most jealous of those addressed whenever he had seen it been directed at pretty girls and women over and over again, so many hurtful times.

Athos had always longed to just once be on the receiving end of the dashing flirtations that also was Aramis.

Aramis drunk, Aramis loose, _Aramis lustful..._ when all politeness was gone.

 

He cursed as his reaction was far too palpable and wished he could see the quicksilver grin that certainly flashed across Aramis’ face like he had witnessed it a hundred times before from afar, as Aramis gripped Athos’ hair with one fist and bent his head away to bare Athos’ throat further to him and licked beneath the ear, relishing in the shiver that ran down Athos’ back with it.

Unable to answer coherently, and equally needing to hold himself upright on something, Athos intensified his grip on Aramis’ behind.

 

“Like this, then.” Aramis perverse delight audible in his toneless voice.

 

Athos’ panting started becoming frenzied as Aramis bit and sucked a mark to Athos’ throat where he knew he _really_ shouldn’t leave one, where the others could see.

But Athos didn’t draw away, his shawl could hide it most of the times and this was more important; a souvenir he wished could last forever and he moaned desperately, hoping that Aramis would understand, would suck more blood to the surface to compound the bruise, making it last.

And Aramis did.

He ravaged Athos’ throat and neck, kissing wetly, sucking, biting, making Athos come apart beneath his lips as he made a mental note where the most tender points were that rose goose bumps or made Athos wince and go limp against him when he sunk his teeth in, leaving dents… he wanted to remember, even if this would never again be his prerogative to exert.

He worked his way down Athos’ neck, shoved his collar as far down to reveal the fair skin as he could, and dug in, kissing the lowest spot he could reach like that, snogging the base of Athos neck, biting his neck muscles and finally lifted his head and took half a step back to take in the sight that Athos bode.

Dissolved, Drained, Dishevelled.

Gorgeous!

 

Aramis licked his lips and stepped closer again, pulling Athos’ open doublet down his back, enough to trap his arms inside before he made to open Athos’ breeches.

There was nothing shy or demurely about him, this time.

This was Aramis the predator, having his way, smiling dangerously in his anticipation.

Looking down at Athos, Aramis’ eyes reflected the want that smouldered inside him.

Athos could do nothing to suppress another wave of shivers as Aramis scorched not only his eyes but his last wall of resistance with his stare and slid his hand inside Athos’ breeches.

 

Athos bit down hard on the groan that pained his throat and tried to writhe free, but Aramis held him fast with his other arm as he pushed his palm down against the sensitive underside of Athos' enlarged throbbing cock, making Athos jerk and buck into his hand involuntarily.

Aramis eyes softened, his complacence obvious as he exhaled open mouthed, wrung his fingers around Athos’ cock and stroked him with a twist of his wrist and his thump generating just the right pressure on his already leaking glans.

The feel of Aramis’ elegant long fingers around him was enough to push Athos over the edge, but he didn’t want to come, didn’t want this to end… _didn’t want Aramis to go._

He stiffened and bit down hard on his tongue, his jaw strained in self-control as he breathed through the moment to relax.

 

Aramis chuckled against Athos’ forehead, half nuzzle, half kiss, the sound low and throaty, deliciously frivolous, before he pulled back and pushed Athos onto the bed to take off Athos’ boots and breeches.

He started to get Athos undressed; not hasty but efficiently, giving him time to get it back together but not dallying around.

He had started with the bottom wear first to have Athos' arms still tied as he progressed until the other wore nothing but his briefs below.

The thin linen, already wet at the waist, didn’t leave a lot to fantasy, thanks to the state of Athos’ still prominent erection.

 

Aramis paused and took a second to take in the sight Athos presented, the tip of his tongue flashing between his lips.

Just as Athos’ thought his head had won over his genitals and he got himself under control again, Aramis dragged his eyes back up to Athos’, his own expression game faced, revealing nothing.

 

Athos hoped that he would strip down as well now, but Aramis re-approached and set a knee on the bed between his legs the other foot resting on the floor as he leaned over Athos, forcing the other to lie back on his back awkwardly with his arms caught in his doublet and being pushed back diagonally on his not very wide bed.

Aramis loomed over him, bracing himself on one arm next to Athos’ shoulder as he leaned in and kissed Athos again, devouring his tortured tongue, humming like Athos’ blood tasted especially exquisite.

Athos had to lie helplessly as Aramis used the leverage of his half standing position to force his knee on the bed further up between Athos’ legs.

His supple nubuck leather boots brushing Athos’ naked shins, and the smooth velour leather of his breeches, forming a sharp contrast to his rough linens, did nothing to help his excitement ebb down as Aramis ground his hardness against Athos, again.

 

As Athos’ cock was back to its fullest, Aramis released Athos, pulled the jacket and shirt off him, letting him fall back on the bed almost naked, giving him air to breathe.

His eyes were glowing embers as he stepped back from Athos and began undressing himself.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Sensually.

 

Athos pushed himself up on his elbows and rested transfixed to the spot, caught as much by Aramis’ pervasive stare as by the sight he presented, peeling himself out of his clothes so gracefully… practised, his mind supplied, _appealingly_ his lower parts corrected.

 

As Aramis stood in nothing but his briefs, and did not in the least hesitate in his proceedings of removing them as well, a slow smile curved his lips, almost too predatory for Athos’ liking.

Athos felt another flush heat his throat, his expression must have given his bewilderment away.

He knew that Aramis was the least ashamed to undress before his comrades in the field or whenever necessary, but he, of course, had never seen him undress in this state of arousal, and was yet surprised at his lack of bashfulness even then.

He shouldn’t have been though.

Aramis looked down at him as self-conscious as he had ever seen him approach any maid in any inn before… as he had wished him to look at him for what felt like ages whenever he had stayed behind, drowning himself in wine.

 

He gulped as Aramis went over to fetch the bottle, his stare not leaving him for a second as he took a swig; his movements prowling, his smile dirty… _Aramis had known all along._

Athos’ member twitched.

Aramis caught the movement from the corner of his eyes and came back with the wine, drinking again, cupping his cock – as well proportioned and beautiful as the rest of him - with his other hand, stroking it lasciviously, _presenting_ it to Athos, who felt his drool pool in his mouth at the sight.

Everything about Aramis was beautiful, his slender but nicely defined and subtly muscled body, as well as all his long and elegant members.

As handsome as Athos had imagined him, he pondered if he would taste everywhere as exquisitely as did his mouth on his…

 

Athos tried to come back from his reveries and concentrate on the there and then, his one _actual_ time with Aramis, the Aramis of his dreams... _his demeanour so different to his first approach_ …

He had seen Aramis around so many women, the lowest and the highest, always gallant, always finding the right conversations to lead, the right kind of flirtations, he knew every way of winning not only their bodies but taking their whole hearts by storm, changing roles seamlessly to pleasure whomever he was with… _acting_.

Athos tried to clear his mind.

He sat up and shook his head.

_Not like that…_

 

He pulled Aramis down by his wrist to sit beside him, took the bottle and swallowed - not nearly enough to drown the stale taste in his throat, but just enough to clear his head.

 

“Aramis,”

 

I _do_ want you…

The _real_ you.

You don’t need to fulfil my dirty dreams for me to want to have you… _to love you_.

 

“Don’t.”

 

He passed back the bottle which Aramis took thankfully.

He also thankfully bit his tongue not to blurt out what was foremost on his mind, but took a second to drink and think, which Athos used to slide next to him.

He looked at Aramis.

Tried to will his thoughts into his friends’ consciousness.

 _You don’t need to please me like you might_ think _you needed to with everyone else. I will love you, no matter what…forever!_

 

And everything started to make sense.

How Aramis could have forgotten everything that mattered, given up on everything – even his friends, even his life - _and slept with THE QUEEN!_

If she had expected it from him, he would never have been able to deny her.

He was as helpless against wanting to please, as Athos was against the call of the bottle.

 

He took the bottle from his friend, put it down and took his face in his hands.

He looked deep into Aramis’ eyes and tears formed at the back of his eyes at the doubt he found there.

He wanted to tell Aramis that he forgave him, that he would miss him, that he loved him… _would always love him_.

Wanted to say it so that Aramis believed him.

 

His eyes flickered from one of the dark eyes of his beloved one to the other.

He couldn’t say it.

His throat was corded up.

It wasn’t fair, not now, not when this was the last time they ever had.

 

He closed his eyes and moved in, swallowing a sob as he placed his wet lips upon Aramis’carefully.

His tongue probed Aramis’ upper lip tenderly, asking for understanding, for forgiveness that he didn’t find it in him to reassure him verbally - as Aramis was obviously in need of -, asking for entrance.

As Aramis swallowed whatever he had wanted to say and opened his lips minutely, Athos pulled back slightly to lick his own lips and lay them upon Aramis’ again.

Tenderly.

His eyes still closed, he tasted both of Aramis’ lips reverently while a single tear ran down his cheek and mingled with the wetness on his lips before he entered Aramis’ with his tongue.

Aramis gasped at the sudden taste of tear but didn’t say a thing as Athos kissed him wetly, deeply, sensuously.

All the questions that he might have had were being answered in this kiss as it went on and got more and more voluptuously.

 

Of course Athos did still love him, of course Athos did want him, of course Athos didn’t want him to go.

 

Aramis sighed into the kiss, a few hot tears of his own running down his nose as he crawled up to kneel next to Athos on the bed and kissed him back thoroughly.

Tongue circled tongue, fighting for the upper hand, giving in in submission, moan swallowed moan and every one’s sound stirred up the other’s need to become more frantic.

 

Together they fell back onto the bed, one sank himself, pulling the other down under with him, one pushed the other under to drown and never surface again and followed the first into the deep.

 

Aramis ended up on top of Athos, sucking on the other’s tongue as if it were a straw, his last life line, and emphasised the movement of his tongue with rolling his groin against Athos’. Which of them moaned needier or more shamelessly into the other’s throat by then was indistinguishable.

 

When Aramis finally opened his eyes again, Athos was looking at him as if he wanted to imprint every single line of his face into his memory.

He drew back, breathing hard, but his eyes gleamed like molten fire.

 

He sat back and pulled Athos’ last bit of garment down with him.

It was hot and wet as Aramis laid it aside and bent down to trace the pulsing veins on Athos' cock with the tip of his tongue, working his way up to his leaking tip.

He dipped into the dimple with his tongue and looked up at Athos’ as he gasped breathlessly.

Aramis wanted to see Athos’ eyes as he fought for control over himself and he slurped at his head, sucking at the little hole until Athos couldn’t contain himself any longer and opened his eyes with a desperate cry.

Having his full attention back, Aramis held Athos’ gaze as he swallowed Athos whole, drawing another desperate groan from him.

Athos eyes grew wide in agony before he grabbed Aramis’ hair and pulled him off.

 

“Please!”

He held Aramis’ head steady with both hands and looked at him beseechingly.

“Please…”

 

Aramis looked around searchingly. Nothing usable caught his eye, not even weapon oil.

Athos caught his face, made him look back at him and looked him in the eye; shaking his head minutely.

“Don’t, please!

I want to feel you tomorrow, the whole week, even next if I have to mount, please, Aramis.”

 

“No, Athos,” Aramis urged, “I won’t hurt you!”

Athos laughed tonelessly.

If Aramis only knew.

 

“You…” Athos’ voice broke… you hurt me so much more than I can take, even without touching me.

“You…” he started again, and stopped, clenching his teeth together, trying to force back the tears… you tear my bloody heart out when you go!

His voice was hoarse when he finally resumed.

 

“Give me at least this bit of corporal pain, to remember this and make me forget the agony for a bit.”

 

Aramis swallowed the tears he felt welling up and let himself be dragged up to Athos’ face again.

The kiss they exchanged was biting, demanding, forcing.

 

As Aramis pulled back, his lips were dripping wet.

Whose saliva and tears clung between them was not clear anymore.

Athos breathed hard to choke back the darkness that threatened to embrace him from inside to wipe away the tears and replace the sorrow.

Not yet, again, my old friend, let me have this first, let me see and cherish every last moment with him.

Let me forever visualize the sight of him like this…

 

Aramis took three fingers into his mouth, wetting them considerably before pulling them back out again, making Athos gasp.

He lay half on his side, half on top of Athos and watched him closely as he reached down with that hand.

Athos swatted at it, not wanting Aramis to have any mercy with him any longer.

 

“Just do it, for blood’s sake!”

 

But Aramis struck quick as a snake as he positioned himself fully over Athos and between his legs, at the same moment as his teeth found the mark he sucked earlier on Athos’ throat with his in-built unerring aim.

He bit down hard on it, his teeth leaving dents, as a single finger simultaneously breached Athos.

Athos cried out, surprise and frustration mixing in a snarl as Aramis sucked and pushed at the same time.

 

The teasing so deliciously painful, the breaching not painful enough.

 

Athos writhed beneath him, trying to discern where to bite back, where to lick and where to kiss.

He settled for sucking at the jaw he could reach, as his hands settled on Aramis’ back and gripped bruisingly as Aramis sucked his neck harder, pushing a second finger in.

 

Athos bucked his hips and groaned, his one hand clawing into Aramis’ firm round cheek as the other pushed into his hair, trying to pry him off his neck.

He needed to kiss him, to fuck him with his tongue as Aramis fucked him with his fingers.

Pushing them past his firm rim again and again, crooking them in his tightness, brushing a spot that made him lose sight and sparked off little flashs dancing behind his closed eyes.

He had to open them again, he had to take in the sight of his beloved lost in desire as he was, wet, panting, sweating.

He had finally pulled Aramis off his neck and they looked at each other, consciousness fighting over passion, breathing hard and open mouthed.

_Don’t go!_

 

Aramis spread his fingers inside Athos and penetrated him further with his eyes as he positioned his third finger against Athos.

Athos jerked beneath him finally bringing a hand between them and batted Aramis’ away.

 

Curling his own hand around the leaking hardness of Aramis, and one leg around one of his thighs, he positioned Aramis before his hole and held him tight there, looking at his friend challengingly.

 

“I explicitly asked you to.”

 

Athos reminded him, trying to find his usual calm while feeling the hot pre-come of his desired wetten his rim.

 

Aramis still looked at him, his stare a mixture of longing and beseeching.

 

Athos knew, Aramis was a lover who cherished the ones with him, who’d never want to hurt him on purpose, whose impetuousness of the warrior ended where his healer’s instinct kicked in, his lover’s instinct.

And Athos would give anything, everything, to know him better right then, to know which sentiment to trigger, to get him to just have his way, forgetting all reason and care.

He strained and brought his upper body up to place a kiss on Aramis’ swollen lips and then whispered the words he’d never say aloud, so low, that even Aramis couldn’t hear them.

 

Or could he?

 

Aramis didn’t close his eyes, he just blinked once, staring at Athos in wonder from under his long dark lashes, his eyes, black as obsidian, reflecting the flickering light like a mountain lake at night would the stars.

Calmness fell around them.

And then everything happened at once.

Aramis licked across Athos’ lips as he lined himself up and then entered both his wound up openings at once.

 

Athos had always wondered what the real Aramis would be like, as a lover.

He had seen a lot of Aramis’ repertoire from nearby or afar and had seen quite a range of different proceedings and bearings.

Aramis could be the steaming toy to a wealthy widow as well as the gallant courtier to a noble maiden at court and remain in each role flawlessly.

At first he had assumed that there was no real Aramis as it came to intimacy, that he was so shallow as to just be whatever it took to get under a woman’s skirts.

But as he got to know Aramis better, more privately and as close as only Porthos and himself knew him, as more than a sword-brother, as a _friend_ , he had begun to doubt that he had ever seen the real Aramis in this kind of situation …as he had seen him in late conversations after too much wine, stitching up comrades in the field, drawing his pistol or rapier in battle.

But right then, by the look in his eyes, Athos knew that he was about to be taken by _Aramis_.

Not a façade he put on for some lady’s enjoyment or the satisfaction of a kink.

No.

In that moment that Aramis finally pushed into him, he recognised all of his beloved brother-in-arms.

 

He breached his barriers with measured force, reminding Athos of him riding into a group of foes, bellicose, bloodthirsty, craving to attack but with his powerful hot-blooded war stallion harshly reined in to keep control.

 

Aramis pressed his head just past Athos’ rose and halted, giving him time to adjust, as Athos groaned drawn-out through a clenched throat.

He was so tight, so hot, and so unbelievably breath-taking.

It took all he had not to just push in to the hilt make him scream as he had demanded him to.

 

Athos nearly choked on Aramis tongue as the other finally pushed in.

He gasped for air and a pained groan escaped him as he was breached.

 

He had instantly snapped back the hand he had wrapped around Aramis silken cock and clawed violently in Aramis’ back, his fingers imprinting in the muscles between the ribs where so many long nails had left deep scratch marks before.

 

The head of Aramis’ cock was so much more to take than his delicate fingers had been.

 

Aramis had stopped moving instantly and Athos cursed himself for not having been able to suppress his cry.

But the feeling, the pain, the pleasure, it all had been much too overwhelming.

He felt his pulse throb violently through his stretched pucker, but stronger than the pain rose the need; the need for more - for _all_ of his desired’s beautiful, long and deliciously hard member.

 

Aramis held himself steady, braced above Athos, and released his lips, pulling at the lower one with his teeth as he pulled back to make Athos open his eyes and he did.

They were dark blue, like the stormy ocean at La Rochelle in autumn rolling in, ready to lose itself between the keen rocks close to the shore.

Worry creased Aramis’ brow and he hesitated, trapped between the urge to go on and the will to retract and release Athos from the obvious pain.

He opened his mouth to ask, but Athos saw that coming.

He had wrapped one leg around Aramis' thigh and one hand on the opposite buttock and vigorously pulled him in, sinking his teeth in Aramis' shoulder as the silken column was caved deeper in his remonstrative innerst.

 

“Athos...”, Aramis hissed chiding, in pain himself, and Athos felt all muscles under his fingers constrict as Aramis put up his utmost resistance and stopped his forced progress.

And Athos groaned into the flesh he bit down on, not the pain but the frustration alighting.

Aramis had promised him this, _owed_ him this, the only way to mask the anguish so much worse he had caused, will have caused, when he'll be gone.

 

“I am here,“ Aramis whispered soothingly, kissing Athos' temple softly.

“I won't stop, I promise!”

 

Athos shivered.

Aramis' empathy bordered on being frightening. Maybe he knew him just too well...

 

“But I won't start moving until you relax, Athos. Breathe.”

 

Athos let his head drop back, defeated.

His eyes were closed and he inhaled and exhaled deeply, shuddering at first, but steadier soon, while Aramis continued nuzzling his cheek, his hair.

He nibbed at his neck again, where it rose goose bumps down Athos' spine and slowly drew back, almost pulling out before he pushed back in.

 

His moves were shallow at first, careful, then deeper, the slide becoming enticing.

 

Aramis took his time with Athos, pushed only a little further when he knew Athos would be able to accommodate him.

He rolled his hips and changed his angle slightly until he felt Athos claw at his back gain, demandingly.

Tearing at him.

Aramis set a more vicious pace until saw Athos gasp in pleasure and waited until he moaned and opened his eyes.

Then he caught his hazed gaze and held it as he finally bumped his hips sharply into him and sheathed himself fully into the throbbing flesh.

 

It had taken Athos already all he had to keep it together for so long, every well aimed drag against his tender points having sent scintillating stars before his eyes for some time.

With a pressed cry, Athos came, spraying seemingly endless threads of semen between them.

He hadn't wanted to come just then, but the feeling had been much too overwhelming for him since Aramis had first entered him.

Athos had never been taken by a man before, and Aramis clearly knew what he was doing, pulling out all the stops while he had fucked him.

Fucked him still.

 

Aramis' eyes sparkled delighted as he continued burying himself into Athos pulsing depth while the other spurted helplessly, his tight ring clenching furiously around him.

Aramis fucked him right through his climax and Athos thought he saw him smile through his dizziness as each thrust of him elated another burst.

 

“Dear God, Aramis!”

 

Athos panted, finding back his belief in deity for the moment. Although the name of the Lord had just escaped as attributed adoration to the name that followed.

He felt inebriated  - more than the wine could have ever have induced - and he could taste the joy in Aramis' mouth as the other had used his slackness to sweep down and kiss him again.

“Hmmm.”

Aramis relentlessly continued ravishing Athos on both ends and Athos did not complain, even drained as he felt, on the contrary.

He had asked for a memento, after all.

 

_\- The whole week, even next if I have to mount. -_

 

He had feared that Aramis would be too considerate.

And he had been, in his way, but he apparently was about to make good for that.

 

Athos had often seen Aramis kissing and longed himself in the partaking place, noting how the other indulged in it, how he revelled in it; it had been left to his imagination how he would be to lie with.

Aramis was as intoxicating as he had known he would be.

He wasn't sure if it was a curse or a blessing that he now knew first hand, now that he left... _soon._

 

Aramis slowed down and disentangled their tongues to look at Athos expectantly as he drew nearly all the way out, stretching Athos' hole with his glans.

Watching his strained reaction. Enjoying it.

He was toying with him.

The spark in his eye reminding him of a cat playing with its already helpless prey before it killed it... _or just tossed it aside gutted and crippled._

 

When Aramis pushed back in, all the way, sighing happily and biting at Athos' upper trapezius muscle playfully, he found that also his loins decided that they didn't mind as his cock twitched treacherously.

Oh yes, he would let Aramis use him gladly, to whatever end.

But that he had always known.

 

Aramis had stopped his arousing biting and was finally secure enough in Athos' resurging arousal that he had started talking to him... lovingly... _dirty._

Athos had assumed that Aramis would be vocal during sex but he had been too preoccupied to notice his silence before.

He felt a pleased blush rise at the thought that Aramis might have been a bit flustered so far as well.

His mouth curled up in his trade mark half smile as he bent his head to look at him.

Aramis purred praises and compliments into his ear between sucking kisses and whispering obscenities that made Athos' breath hitch and his cock fill again.

 

Aramis still shoved into him with admirable staying power but with another nonchalant rhythm, now.

He smiled and down-right flirted and was suddenly so back at ease with him as they used to be... as friends, even more so... so intimately, so close.

This was the Aramis of his secret dreams, being so sexy, lustful, passionate, but at the same time so open hearted and so on his turf... _in his bed_.

 

Athos' heart warmed at the realisation of how it could have been and was then crushed and sucked into the void of the impending loss, it became all too much.

He clenched his fingers in Aramis' hair and pulled him to his mouth, stopping the enchanting endearments frenetically with teeth and tongue.

He felt his dick filling more rapidly again, matching his own crazed drive as he alternatively rutted against Aramis' tight abs and impaled himself back on Aramis' cock.

Luckily Aramis sensed his being on the brink of what he was able to stand and decided to comply with Athos' unspoken demand.

 

He shifted his weight and started to pound severely into Athos, who had to acknowledge that Aramis had spared him until then.

His abused tissue was getting more and more sensitive and it felt as if Aramis had grown bigger and harder than he thought possible in the meantime.

He felt every single vein on Aramis velvety shaft slide by his swollen rim as Aramis lunged out as much as possible before his thrusts.

 

With each stroke, Aramis brushed the spot that would surely have made Athos come, hadn't he already come so hard not long enough ago.

All he could do was cling to Aramis, biting on the other's tongue to drown the whimper that tried to emerge while the other tortured him with the feeling of almost being there until red dots started exploding before his eyes and he felt precariously sore.

 

It was only when he felt Aramis pulsing inside him, filling him with his viscid release, that he noticed his own dick jerking rabidly between them, spurting only remnants of fluid while his anus cramped tightly around Aramis.

Both of them groaned extensively in each others mouths before they eventually released each other.

 

Aramis panted and lay down half next to Athos, carefully not to draw out while Athos still cramped so vice-like around him, he pressed his lips to Athos' hair and laid his hand on his chest.

Athos heart raced to the point of stopping to beat at all.

Aramis tried to address him, but he didn't get any response, like before. Athos had a habit of not listening to him when he was otherwise occupied... but he was excused now, he had passed out.

Aramis carefully drew out and kissed Athos once again, lingeringly, before checking his pulse and his respiration again.

 

As Athos awoke it was still before dawn. He felt groggy. Too much to be awake already. He groped for the bottle before the bed, but there was none. He strained to look around. The bottle that sat neatly on his night stand was still half full and the other was... not lying around empty.

Strange.

He wanted to sit up, mindful of his presumable head-ache, but it was not his head that was sore as he moved.

What the devil had he done?

He felt a crust of dried come on his belly.

Athos brought his hands up to sink his face in them with a groan. He had been dreaming of _him_ , again, he remembered now, so vividly this time he could still _smell_ him.

He stood up, wincing as he moved and went to his antechamber, trying to remember what he had done to himself to feel this battered.

 

He was alone. Everything was in its rightful place. But something didn't feel right.

On the table stood the other bottle of wine that he remembered.

 _Aramis' favourite_ his mind volunteered.

He opened it and took a swallow to rinse out his mouth that tasted uncomfortably coppery... _blood._ He must have bitten his tongue.

As the wine touched his tongue, he sobered instantly and the rapidly spreading ache had nothing to do with his unfamiliar bodily _discomfort_ that suddenly started to make sense.

 

Aramis' scarf was draped over the backrest of his chair.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a homage to the song "Take My Scars" of the band Machine Head:  
>  _Take my scars, Through hands of God, I found a better way…_


End file.
